


While You Were Sleeping

by fearless_beggar



Category: The Resident (TV 2018)
Genre: AU that no one asked for, F/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-11-08
Updated: 2021-02-14
Packaged: 2021-03-09 00:00:06
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 9
Words: 19,667
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27445264
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fearless_beggar/pseuds/fearless_beggar
Summary: Hayley Lewis, MD is hoping for a quiet night on call in her small town hospital in rural Georgia. No such luck, as a drunk driver brings a handsome, tattooed John Doe into her ER, leaving it up to her to save his life and try to figure out who he is.TW for injuries sustained during a car accident, though I imagine if you're a fan of a show like the Resident this is likely not terribly distressing for you.Updates every Saturday (in theory)
Relationships: Conrad Hawkins/Nicolette Nevin
Comments: 81
Kudos: 104





	1. Tallahassee

**Author's Note:**

> Are you guys sick of me yet?  
> No babies in this story. In my head, I imagine all my other works belonging to the same universe just at different points in time. This is completely separate.  
> Mostly, I just wanted to play around with writing Nic and Conrad from a third perspective.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Are you guys sick of me yet?  
> No babies in this story. In my head, I imagine all my other works belonging to the same universe just at different points in time. This is completely separate.  
> Mostly, I just wanted to play around with writing Nic and Conrad from a third perspective.

“MVA incoming, at least one critical,” One of the triage nurses relates to Hayley as she comes through the ER doors in response to a page, “5 minutes out.” Hayley sighs, hurrying to put a gown on over her scrubs.

“So much for a quiet night,” She throws her brown hair up into a bun to keep it out of her face. She had just finished checking on her patients and was trying to get some much needed sleep in an on-call room when she got the page. Despite her exhaustion, she’s looking forward to an incoming trauma. Their smaller, rural hospital didn’t get many exciting cases. Half the time people wandered into their emergency room to have a warm place to sit. 

She stands outside with another doctor and a nurse, slipping on some gloves while they wait for the ambulance. 

“John Doe. Car vs semi, GCS 6 at the scene, head trauma with positive seatbelt sign, B.P. is 85/50. He had a unit of saline en route.”

“Take him to trauma 1 and get him up on the monitors,” Hayley walks next to the gurney, “What the hell happened?” 

“The other driver lost control of the truck, could have fallen asleep at the wheel, or he could have been drinking,” The paramedic says, “I don’t know. The other driver was conscious, police will do a breathalyzer, but I had to get this guy here.”

“You did the right thing. On my count, one two three,” They heave the patient onto the exam table, hurrying to start an IV and get his vitals, Hayley makes note of the tattoo on his chest as she attaches the leads, characteristics like that can help get an ID, “He’s tachy and hypotensive, let’s hang another unit of saline. We don’t know his name?” Hayley directs the question to the paramedic. 

“No, he was outside of the car and we couldn’t find his wallet. There was a fire, I think he was able to get out before he passed out. His phone was completely shattered in the accident, the police are working on figuring out who the car is registered to,” The paramedic nods to them, “It’s a damn shame, a young man like that. Good luck.” 

“Sir? Can you hear me?” Hayley shines her penlight in his eyes, “His pupil response is low, order a head CT stat. Sir, can you tell me your name?” 

“Nick...” It’s half a name, half a groan as he fights unconsciousness, Hayley almost doesn’t catch it. 

“Stay with me Nick,” She grabs the ultrasound probe and squirts some gel onto his stomach, “Looks like his spleen took some damage, he’s bleeding into his abdomen.”

“Nick, I- ugh,” He lets out a low groan, the monitors start to blare. 

“Damn it,” Hayley holds her stethoscope against his chest, “His left lung collapsed. Get me a chest tube _now_.” She grabs the betadine, rubbing it on his skin.

“10 blade,” She takes the scalpel from the nurse and makes the incision with practiced ease. She inserts the tube, hearing the desired puff as the trapped air is expelled and the lung is able to expand. She watches the monitors, his readings low but steady. 

“Get him on oxygen. He’s stable enough for CT,” Hayley says, “Page surgery and neuro, I’m concerned about a possible brain bleed.” She meets the surgeons in imaging, the trio wait anxiously for the results to display on the monitors. 

“There,” Dr. Grant points to the scan of his brain, “Subdural hematoma. Good call, Lewis.”

“Looks like there’s damage to his spleen,” Dr. Turner concurs with Hayley’s earlier assessment, “Let’s get him to surgery.”

It’s out of her hands now, Hayley goes back to the ER to see if she’s needed. But the other guy came in with a broken wrist and one of the PA’s had already set it and all she had to do was sign off on his exam. He has a mild concussion but other than that and the wrist, he’s fine (and very clearly drunk). Unfairly lucky. She debates with herself over whether she should go try to get some sleep, but she knows she won’t be able to. She goes to the gallery to watch her patient. She feels sorry for him, they have no way of identifying him and he’s all alone. At least she knows his name. Nick. It’s a nice name. 

He came in with nice jeans and a tight-fitting cotton shirt that unfortunately they’d had to cut off him. With all his hip bracelets, he seemed more a city type. She wonders what he was doing in Douglas, three hours south of Atlanta and two and a half west of Savannah. What was he doing driving in the middle of the night? Maybe he was on the run from the law, or maybe he was driving through the night to interrupt the wedding of his love before she gets away from him. Hayley chuckles, running her hands through her knotted hair. She needs to get out more. Maybe it’s a little childish (she is the youngest doctor at the hospital, by quite a margin) but she likes making up stories about the people around her. Maybe it stems from childhood shyness, or a flair for the dramatic, but she does it all the time. In coffee shops and on planes and when she has a John Doe in the ER she can’t identify, apparently. She has to remind herself that her patient is not the character she makes up in her head, but a person with a life and probably some family or friends who love him. 

The surgery is long, there's some damage to his kidneys as well that wasn't seen on scans. He codes once on the table, and Hayley thinks she holds her breath for the full two minutes it takes to bring him back. Dr. Turner manages to repair the damage to his spleen without removing it, and Dr. Grant’s craniotomy is successful. Now it’s a waiting game, it’s impossible to tell how severe the damage to his brain is. And even if he wakes up, there’s no telling what sort of deficits he may have. It'll be touch and go for the next several hours, Hayley doubts she'll be getting any sleep.

* * *

“Any progress on an ID?” Hayley asks the social worker outside of Nick’s ICU room. 

“No, and we’re not likely to get any until the morning at the earliest,” It was around 3:30 am, no one at the precinct to run the plates, “The car is the best bet, if that comes up empty we’ll look into missing persons reports matching his description. But since you can’t report an adult missing for over 24 hours, that will take some time too.”

“He said his name was Nick in the ER,” Hayley says, “If that helps.” 

“It does,” The social worker makes a note, “We’ve temporarily labelled him Tallahassee.” Hayley nods. Every hospital has a different method for naming unidentified patients, they use state capitals. 

“Let me know when you hear anything, will you?” Hayley asks.

“Sure thing, thanks Dr. Lewis.”

She enters Nick/Tallahassee's room, scanning over his most recent labs. His red blood cell count is improving after his transfusion, and his platelets are good. His EKG also looks positive considering the amount of stress his heart had been under in the last few hours, this guy had something to live for. She checks over the monitors and orders some repeat labs to be drawn in a few hours. His post op scans of his brain look promising, the next 24 hours will be crucial in determining whether he will wake up, and in what state. Satisfied the vent settings were appropriate, Hayley takes a seat in the chair next to the bed, keeping him company while she finishes up her notes. She finds herself studying him for the first time, now that she isn't busy saving his life. He's handsome, even with the bruises and cuts on his face. What hair she could see poking out from his bandages is a dark blond, his bone structure giving him the chiseled look seen on actors in movies and TV. 

“Don’t worry handsome, I’m sure we’ll ID you soon,” She adjusts his IV, noticing for the first time a tattoo on his right forearm, _Annabeth_ , “Looking like you do, I bet there’s someone missing you.” She vaguely remembers another tattoo on his other arm, but she can’t remember and it’s currently bandaged from his radial fracture.

The belongings he had on his person are in a bag at the bedside, having been removed prior to his surgery. She eyes the items through the plastic, wondering if any of them will give her a clue to his identity. A watch, two bracelets (one a thick leather and the other a thin string of wooden beads), a long chain necklace and a chunky silver ring. Nothing remarkable, no wedding band, no ID. She opens the bag and takes out the watch, checking for an engraving. 

_Ships Passing,_ says the back. That’s it, no name or salutation or any other hints to who this man is. 

“You’re very mysterious, you know that?” The steady rhythm of the vent is her only answer.


	2. Beck’s Triad

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hayley needs about 40 hours of sleep or the equivalent in coffee. Cops are useless, the cafeteria food should be criminal, and Tallahassee keeps trying to die on her.  
> All in all, things could be worse.

“We found the wallet,” Hayley rubs at her eyes and takes the charred leather rectangle from the police officer, “It was in the car. Unfortunately the fire of the wreckage melted the cards together, there’s nothing left to help us identify him.” 

“Given the extent of his injuries, it’s amazing he was able to pull himself out of the wreck,” Hayley opens the wallet and rummages through it, “That probably saved his life. Any luck on the car?” 

“We’re looking into it,” He says. Hayley resists the urge to roll her eyes, cops are useless.

“What does that mean?” There’s a photo, almost completely burned. A smiling little girl is barely visible, “There’s people looking for this guy, worried about him.”

“Listen, Miss-”

“ _Doctor_ , if you don’t mind,” Hayley sets her jaw, hoping her slight 5 foot 3 inch frame makes her look very menacing indeed. 

“Doctor,” he practically sneers at her, “We’re very busy-”

“Oh, I wouldn’t know what that’s like, would I?” Hayley gestures around the hospital they are currently standing in, “I’m on hour 16 of my shift, going on 24 without any sleep. I saved this guy's life, I did _my_ job. I think it’s time you did yours.” 

It was noon the following day, Tallahassee had made it through the night. She had expected by now to have some progress on his ID. The cops make some grumbled excuse and walk away down the hall, Hayley pinches the bridge of her nose. Her head is pounding, she desperately needs some sleep, or maybe a cup of coffee, or both. 

“Here,” Monica, Tallahassee’s nurse, puts a blessed cup of liquid caffeine into her hand, “That was awesome.” Hayley smiled in thanks, taking a long sip. She was popular among the nurses, as one of the only female doctors in the hospital and the youngest. During her residency at Emory she had learned quickly nurses can make or break you as a physician, especially a hospitalist. Despite her (quite frankly) overqualification for the position of chief hospitalist, she had faced quite a lot of resistance from the good ol boys club of the rural Georgia hospital after she took over the position when the previous chief retired. She was soft-spoken by nature, but advocating for her patients brought out a more spirited side of her. She had grown quite fond of Tallahassee. He was her most critical patient and thus required most of her attention, and she felt oddly protective of him since they didn’t know who he was. 

“Your post-op scans look good, no re-bleed” Hayley took her seat next to his bed. He obviously can't hear her in his coma, but without his family to give updates to it felt weird to not verbally mark his progress, “Your intracranial pressure is holding steady. Hopefully it will come down, but the fact that it hasn’t increased is a good sign,” She looks through the rest of the wallet, seeing if she can find something the officers missed. Maybe 5 bucks of salvageable cash, otherwise it’s completely toast, “How the hell did you manage to crawl out of the car with a lacerated spleen, a broken clavicle, 6 broken ribs, and a traumatic brain injury?” She fingers the picture of the little girl. His daughter? No wedding band, but that doesn’t necessarily mean anything. Maybe a sister or niece. Certainly someone important if he carried it with him all the time. She puts the wallet on the bedside; add it to the mystery of Nick/Tallahassee. 

* * *

Another day goes by (Hayley does eventually get some solid sleep) and still no progress on an ID. She takes to spending her downtime in his room, working on her notes and just talking to him about random things. Everyone else in the hospital gets regular visitors, and here Tallahassee is with no one. She mostly talks about her other patients, puzzling through symptoms that would likely be meaningless to him if he were awake to determine diagnosis or treatment. Most of her cases don’t require much to figure out what’s wrong. Sometimes she misses the faster paced, high stakes medicine she practiced at a large teaching hospital like Emory. Another reason Tallahassee is her favorite patient, he’s by far the most interesting, and he never questions her medical expertise. By day three, she’s run out of patients to discuss (it’s a small town), and his intracranial pressures are finally on the downward slope. She starts talking about personal things, like a free therapist that doesn’t respond in any way or offer any sort of advice. She talks to him more in two days than she has to any one person in a long time, the only person who could ever get her to open up was her Dad. 

“My mom says I should get out more, but it’s hard, you know?” Hayley checks his bandages on his head, his incision is healing well, “Most guys here are intimidated that I’m a doctor. Girls are pretty much expected to stay at home with the kids. I love my job, despite the bureaucratic bullshit. I’m the first person in my family to go to college. My dad was the only one who supported me when I got a scholarship to Emory, and then med school. No time for boys. I’ve always been hopeless with dating anyway, way too shy,” Hayley pulls back the bandage over his abdomen, frowning when she sees the redness, “Hey, Monica?”

“Yes, Dr. Lewis?” Monica sticks her head in the room. 

“He has some erythema around his abdominal incisions,” Hayley beckons her closer to see, “When were these last changed?” 

“This morning,” Monica shares her expression, “Just before rounds. Looked fine then.” 

“Where are his most recent labs?” Monica grabs the chart from the end of the bed, “Three hours ago, everything was normal.” She shows the bloodwork to Hayley to confirm. 

“Let’s get another set,” Hayley takes a look at the monitors, “He has a low grade fever too; start some antibiotics.” Monica leaves to put in the order, Hayley finishes with her exam. 

“I worked so hard to save your life,” Hayley tells him, “Don’t die on me now, Nick.” She puts her hand to his forehead to feel for a fever, inadvertently brushing his hair back from his face. One of the monitors beeps behind her, Hayley pulls back and turns, scanning them for any abnormalities and finding none.

“Huh, weird.” Her pager goes off for a new consult in the ER and she steps away, the beep forgotten.

* * *

“How’s our mystery patient?” Dr. Turner finds her in the physicians lounge eating a sad (oh so very sad) turkey sandwich from the cafeteria and hiding from Susan from billing who wants to know why she’s not charging uninsured patients $50 for flu shots. 

“Good, minor post-op infection,” Hayley answers, “He’s on antibiotics.”

“Saw his cranial pressure was down this morning,” He fills a paper cup with coffee and takes a sip, “He’s lucky you were on call the other night, someone else might not have caught the brain bleed.” Hayley swells at the compliment. Unlike most of the other doctors, Dr. Turner had always gotten along with her well. They had both gone to Duke for medical school, and he was the only Black surgeon in the hospital. They were both sort of outsiders, though for very different reasons, and had found some kinship in that. 

“Thanks, Damon,” Hayley smiles at him, “How is Marcus?” 

“Great,” He smiles widely at the mention of his son, “Loving school, maybe a little too much. We’ll see what his grades show.”

“He’s a smart kid,” Hayley says, “I’m sure he’s doing well. Is he liking Atlanta? I miss it.” Marcus was at GSU, Hayley had gone to Emory for undergrad then jumped at the chance to return to Atlanta for residency.

“Loves it,” He says, “Mary is worried he won’t come home for Thanksgiving, but I told her I would go up there and drag his ass home myself if I have to.” Hayley laughs. 

“I’m sure he’ll come home for her stuffing alone,” She says, “I’m due for a visit back, my roommate from residency is having a baby and she wants me to come to the shower.” 

“It’s a great city,” He looks at her sympathetically, “How’s your Dad doing?” Hayley sighs, dropping her gaze and picking at the crust of her sandwich.

“Good days and bad days,” She says vaguely, “I’m headed there after my shift ends.” 

“Try not to stretch yourself too thin,” He puts a friendly hand on her shoulder, “You need to live your life too, Hayley.” Her pager goes off and she checks it, bolting up when she sees the 9-1-1.

“Shit, it’s Tallahassee,” She takes off down the hall towards the ICU, sprinting in a way she hadn’t since Emory, “Come with me!” She barks at one of the other internists on the floor, at least 10 years her senior. Why wasn’t he already running for the room with the blaring monitors?

“His pressure dropped,” Monica tells her when rounds the corner into the room, “Fever spiked to 103. He’s tachy and rising”  
  
“Have the crash cart on standby,” Hayley puts her stethoscope against his chest, muffled heart sounds. She checks his neck, distended veins. Her anxious disposition is evaporated as she assesses her patient with a steely focus. Low pressure, muffled heart sounds, distended veins. Beck’s triad. She knows what to do, she could diagnose it in her sleep. It was the first procedure she ever performed, “Cardiac tamponade. I need a 16 gauge spinal and a 60cc syringe.” Monica moves quickly to grab the supplies and help Hayley gown.

“Don’t you want to check with ultrasound first?” The other doctor says, he doesn’t move to help, standing instead on the other side of the patient, as if _he’s_ observing _her._

As if she isn’t his boss. 

“Sure, if I want my patient to die,” Hayley glares at him as Monica drapes the chest, she grabs the betadine, they only have a few machines, none of them nearby, “Make yourself useful, Dr. Greene, or get the hell out.” He shoots her a murderous look. But her attention is back towards the patient and her impending pericardiocentesis. He unhooks the vent and starts manual ventilation in case they have to run a code. How thoughtful of him. It proves to be unnecessary, however, when Tallahassee’s pressure stabilizes when she drains the excess fluid. 

“Get that to the lab,” She instructs him, handing off the capped syringe “Tell them to put a rush on it.” 

“Why can’t _she_ do it?” He asks, gesturing to Monica. 

“Because _she_ is actually helpful in keeping this man alive,” Hayley holds pressure to the injection site, Monica re-attaches Nick’s ET tube to the vent, “And because your chief told you to. Do it now, Dr. Greene.” 

“You’re gonna make yourself some enemies, Hayley,” Monica says to her when he storms out of the room in a huff. 

“Last time I checked, I was the chief. He should be more worried about making an enemy out of me,” Hayley held her stethoscope to Tallahassee’s chest again, “His infection is getting worse. Let’s broaden his antibiotics and get a repeat CT of his kidneys, Impaired renal function could have caused the effusion.” Monica hurries to do just that, Hayley takes another look at his bandages, sucking her teeth when she sees the increased redness. 

“Nick, I told you _not_ to die on me.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As always, let me know your thoughts! Next chapter will be posted next week


	3. To Ponder a Watch

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ships that pass in the night  
> and speak to each other in passing,  
> Only a signal shown  
> and a distant voice in the darkness;  
> So on the ocean of life,  
> we pass and speak one another,  
> Only a look and a voice,  
> then darkness again and a silence
> 
> Henry Wadsworth Longfellow

“I want bloodwork and urinalysis every 30 minutes,” Hayley scans Nick’s most recent bloodwork, “His calcium is a 6, lets add a drip at 1 mg per hour; hopefully that should lower his potassium levels too.” 

“The results from the cardiocentesis are back,” Monica hands her the report, “It’s what you thought.” Hayley nods, confirming the antibiotic-resistant staph infection and wishing for the EMR of Emory rather than the million sheets of paper they still use at the hospital. The Affordable Care Act had made EMR compulsory, but the hospital was dragging its feet in the implementation.

“Cease penicillin, it’s resistant; lets try cephalosporin and sulfa,” Hayley rubs her hand over her eyes, the familiar prick of exhaustion making them ache, “This isn’t going to help his kidneys.” 

“My shift is over in thirty minutes, but I’ll be sure to change the meds and start the drip before I leave,” Monica says, “You should try to get some sleep, Dr. Lewis.”  
  
“I can’t,” Hayley says, “Not when he’s this critical. You should go home though, Monica. Thanks for all your help.” 

Hayley settles into her chair for (another) long night in Nick’s room. The chair next to his bed was starting to mold to the shape of her backside.

“Would be nice to get some medical history, even just allergies?” Hayley looks at him hopefully: no dice, “Here’s what I’ve guessed, correct me if I’m wrong. You have a history of knee surgeries, more than one if your scars are any indication. You’re very fit, and your ankle has evidence of multiple fractures on your x-rays. Hiking? Mountain biking? Maybe both. I used to go hiking with my Daddy.” She smiled at the memory, “I liked camping and getting dirty and sweaty. It drove my mom crazy, but Daddy loved it. Folks used to tell him he should have had a boy, but he would say he didn’t need a boy, he had me.” Nick doesn’t answer, as usual. Hayley studies him; his superficial wounds were starting to heal, confirming her initial suspicion that he was indeed handsome. Hayley touches his arm, tracing the letters on the inside of his wrist, _Annabeth._ His skin is warm, too warm. Hayley chews on her bottom lip, she’s lost patients to sepsis before. 

“Please don’t die,” she tells him. She traces the letters, over and over, until the action lulls her to sleep. 

* * *

“I don’t know what to tell you,” Hayley digs her nails into her palms, hoping the other men won’t pick up on her discomfort, “He needs dialysis. He’s responding well to the antibiotics, but with the damage to his kidneys, he’s going to go into acute renal failure if we don’t start it soon.” It’s day four of Tallahassee in her ICU, and the administration has finally caught on to her complicated (and potentially fiscally devastating) case. 

“Dialysis is expensive,” The hospital CEO sits at his desk and considers her over his folded hands, “You’ve already ordered multiple costly imaging tests and labs for this patient, we don’t even know if he has insurance.” Hayley resists the urge to groan in frustration. 

“I’ve seen this before, if he doesn’t get treatment he’s going to die,” Hayley says, “His potassium levels are 6, his creatinine levels are 2 and both are rising, _and_ he’s maxed out on calcium. If his kidneys don’t go; his heart will. Impaired renal functioning secondary to blunt abdominal trauma, it’s hardly unheard of. He’s young, he’s fit and strong. He’ll respond to the treatment if his kidneys are just given some time to heal.” 

“She’s right,” Dr. Cooper, the head of Nephrology, remarks, “He does fit the profile of a dialysis patient.”  
  
“Are there any more conservative measures we can take first?” He directs the question to Dr. Cooper, ignoring Hayley entirely. 

“ _I_ am the physician assigned to this case,” Hayley takes a step forward, “I make the call. And he has a $400 watch, I think he has insurance. Talk to the police about the delay in his ID if you want assurances on that.” The CEO regards her quietly, Hayley bites the inside of her cheek to keep from looking at her shoes. 

“Fine,” He says eventually, “But he’s your responsibility, no other docs are going to cover your ass. If he dies, Lewis, it’s on you.” 

“Of course it is,” Hayley says, relieved but trying not to show it too much, “I’m his doctor.” She stands in front of the desk for a moment, hesitant to speak again. 

"Do you need something else, Dr. Lewis?" 

"His intracranial pressure remains unchanged, and he hasn't woken up yet," Hayley starts, "I really think a repeat head CT or MRI is warranted-"

"No," The CEO cuts her off, "Absolutely not. Imaging or dialysis, not both."

 _Both_ are necessary, but no one else seems to think so. Hayley sighs, a scan of his brain could provide some answers as to why he hasn't regained consciousness, but it won't affect her treatment plan. Unfortunately there's nothing that can be done if the scan shows extensive damage. But he will _definitely_ die if his kidney function is not improved. 

"Dialysis," Hayley relents, hoping it's not a mistake.

She leaves his office, headed back to the ICU with her cheeks burning. She feels all too much like a teenager who was just called into the principal's office and not enough like a capable physician and head of her department. She ducks into an on-call room, taking a moment to gather herself before going back to Nick’s room, knowing he’s in Monica’s capable hands. She sits on the bed, scrubbing her hands over her face. She’s barely left the hospital in days, sleeping inconsistently in on-call rooms or in the chair next to Tallahassee’s bed, eating out of vending machines. It’s not healthy, she’s never been able to find a sustainable work-life balance, but she doesn’t trust anyone else with Nick’s case. 

It’s the frustrating part of medicine; you can do everything right, make every right call, and still your patient doesn’t get better. 

Her phone rings in her pocket, Hayley takes it out, not surprised to see her Mom’s picture flashing on the screen. 

“Hey Mom,” She answers tiredly, bracing herself for the verbal avalanche she’s about to experience. 

“Where are you?” Her mother wails into the phone, “It’s been days! Hand to the Lord, I can’t go on like this Hayley-girl.”

“Mom, I’m at the hospital,” Hayley closes her eyes at her mother’s dramatics, “What’s going on? Is Daddy okay?”  
  
“He won’t take his medicine, I told him if he don’t you would come home and be angry at him, but he won’t listen to me.”

“Mom, he has to take his meds,” Hayley chewed her bottom lip in frustration, “You need to make him. My patient is critical, I have to stay until he’s stable. Hide them in his oatmeal, that’s what I do.” 

“It’s always my fault with you,” She continues on, “I can’t do nothing right. Not supportive enough of your precious career, can’t take care of your Daddy good enough. I’m just asking for some help, can’t you find it in yourself to help your poor Daddy?” Hayley bristles at the accusation, as if she hadn’t given up everything, put her entire life on hold to help her father. 

“Put him on,” Hayley says, she swallows down the hurt at her mother’s gaslighting. Getting upset at her isn’t going to help anything, “Let me talk to him Mom.” There’s some shuffling on the phone before she hears her father speak.

“Hello?”

“Hi Daddy,” Hayley says, “It’s Hayley-girl. Momma says you won’t take your pills.”  
  
“Hayley... Oh! Hayley-girl,” She can practically hear his sweet smile through the phone, “How are you baby girl? I was just telling Mr. Jones about you in your fancy school. I told him my girl was the smartest person I’d ever met, she sure didn’t get that from me.”

“No way Daddy,” She replies, “You know everything. Can you take your pills for me Daddy? I can’t go back to school until I know you got your medicine.” 

“Nah Hayley, you know I can’t stand those pills,” He says, “You should go back to class, you too smart not to finish school.”

“Come on Daddy,” She says, “You gotta take your medicine if you wanna see me graduate. If you wanna be around for everything you gotta take your pills, then you and Momma can go for a walk and watch some TV. No Fox News though, I told you that was garbage.”

“I wanna see you graduate baby girl,” He says, “I’m gonna be around for it. I’m gonna walk you down the aisle at your wedding and see you become a Momma.”

“Yeah,” Hayley swallows the lump in her throat, tears burning in her eyes, “Just take your pills Daddy.” 

“Alright Hayley-girl,” There’s silence on the other line and she knows her mother took the phone back. 

“Did he take them?” Hayley asks briskly, “Make sure he took all of them, make him open his mouth and stick out his tongue.”

“Yeah he took them all. Hayley-” Her mom starts. 

“I have to go,” She hangs up the phone before she finishes, head in her hands. 

* * *

“What’s your relationship with your parents?” Hayley asks Nick as she and Monica set up the lines for dialysis, “I hope it’s better than mine.” 

“Why do you talk to him?” Monica asks her.

“Studies have shown comatose have some response to verbal stimulus,” Hayley answers, “and he doesn’t have any visitors. It’s sad.” 

“Not bad to look at either,” Monica says, “You should go back to Atlanta, find a handsome boy like him and work in a shiny hospital. You’re too smart and pretty for this dead-end town. Why did you leave in the first place?”

“How come you never went back for your masters?” Hayley deflects the question, “I’ve heard you talk about it. You would be a great NP.” 

“Life. Too busy raising my babies,” Monica replies, “Now that they’re grown I’m too old.”

“Nonsense,” Hayley says, “You’re in your prime.” 

“You’re sweet, if a liar,” Monica says, “Looks like he’s all set.” Hayley nods, double checking the doses and satisfied they’re appropriate. He was doing better, the infection had cleared up considerably overnight. She was concerned about his kidneys and their effect on his heart function. Multiple organ failure would be disastrous at this stage (or really any time, actually).

“Here’s hoping this works,” Hayley says, “Or else he’s out of luck and I’m out of a job.” 

“Are there any options, if it doesn’t work?” Monica asks, she pulls the blanket further over Tallahassee so he doesn’t get cold. 

“Kidney transplant, but we’re not equipped for that here,” Hayley sighs, “And he’s not stable for transport. None of this matters anyway if he doesn’t regain consciousness soon. That’s why talking to him is important. I just wish we could figure out who he is so someone could be here with him. Hold his hand, talk about the weather. That sort of thing. Someone he knows rather than strangers.” 

“He’s awful handsome,” Monica raises her eyebrows at her, “Maybe when he wakes up he’ll be so grateful to the pretty doc who saved his life.”

“Monica!” Hayley’s face is beet red, “That’s completely inappropriate.”

“Don’t tell me you don’t think he’s handsome!”

“He’s my patient, the only thing that concerns me is keeping him alive.” 

“Hmm,” Monica’s not convinced, “I’ll call the precinct again. Try to light a fire under their asses.” 

“That would be great,” Hayley sits in her chair, pulling her never ending pile of charts towards her, “I’m going to stay here with him.” 

She tries to get some work done, but finds herself watching him and the steady rise and fall of his chest from the vent (he _is_ handsome, she’s not blind). She remembers the letters on the inside of his wrist, _Annabeth._ Somewhere along the way she had decided she was his sweetheart, maybe the mother of the little girl who’s picture he carried around with him. 

“I bet you’re a fun Dad,” She says to him, “I’ll bet you go to all her dance recitals or sports games or whatever it is little girls are into these days. I’ll bet she’s a Daddy’s girl. I was, I used to have a Dad like that.” She reaches for the bag of his belongings, pulling out the watch that had convinced the CEO to authorize his treatment. She flips it over, running her thumb over the words on the back. 

_Ships Passing_ ; Hayley looks back up at Tallahassee, as if he could give her some insight. It’s neither intimate nor romantic, it could better describe her realtionship with her patient rather than someone who cared enough for him to spend $400 on a watch. “What ever happened to ‘I love you’ or ‘happy anniversary’ or whatever?” He doesn’t answer, but Hayley kind of prefers it. People are easier to talk to when they don’t talk back.

* * *

She stays with him for most of his first round of dialysis, only stepping away for a few follow-up appointments and a quick strep test in the ER, otherwise she pretty much lives in the chair next to his bed, monitoring him closely and making sure he doesn’t try to die on her. Again. He handles it very well, and with just one round there’s marked improvement in his GFR. Hayley breaths a sign of relief, the first good news in a couple tense days. She made the right call.

She leaves the hospital for a few hours, getting some fresh air and a real shower, making sure the leftover takeout in her apartment hasn’t gone completely rancid. She stops by her parents’ to make sure her mother hasn’t had a complete mental breakdown and her father took his medication and they have some food in the fridge. They don’t have a lot, so she does a grocery run for them. She feels almost relaxed when she enters the ICU floor later that evening to start (yet another) overnight shift. 

She should have known better than to think it would last.

“Dr. Lewis,” Monica stops her as soon as she walks through the doors. 

“What’s wrong?” Hayley asks, alarmed. She reaches for her pager, did she miss something?

“Talahassee is fine,” she says, “Well he’s not _fine,_ he’s still unconscious. But he’s not worse than when you left-”

“Monica,” Hayley is just noticing the commotion at the other side of the ICU, near the doors that lead to the hospital waiting rooms, “What’s happening?”

“Oh, his fiancé is here,” Monica says, “Security won’t let her back.”

“What!?” Hayley starts towards the doors, “How does his fiancé know he’s here when we don’t even know his name? And why the _hell_ didn’t anyone page me?” 

“Apparently the police called her,” Monica jogs to keep up with Hayley’s fast pace. “She seems pretty pissed.” They’re close enough to pick up some of what the security officer is saying. 

“I’m sorry ma’am, but visiting hours are over-”

“I just drove three hours to get here, I’m not leaving until I lay eyes on Conrad,” the security guard shifts and Hayley catches sight of the owner of the voice. Tall, blonde, and _very_ angry looking, “What kind of hospital is this? Where the hell is his _doctor?_ ” 

Hayley groans inwardly, this was going to be fun. 

“That would be me,” the woman and the guard turn towards her, Hayley takes a breath. She hates this part, the hysterical family members. Her headache is back, she resists the urge to run her fingers through her hair, “I’m Dr. Lewis. Would you like to come with me, ma’am?” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Lol. More Nic next week  
> Have a happy and safe Thanksgiving! wear a mask <3


	4. Enter Nicolette Nevin

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Surprise Thanksgiving chapter! (because I know everyone is waiting for Nic) I wrote about half of what I planned for this chapter and decided to publish today. I will post the second half on Saturday, then go back to weekly updates.

_“I just drove three hours to get here, I’m not leaving until I lay eyes on Conrad,” the security guard shifts and Hayley catches sight of the owner of the voice. Tall, blonde, and very angry looking, “What kind of hospital is this? Where the hell is his doctor?”_

_“That would be me,” the woman and the guard turn towards her, “I’m Dr. Lewis. Would you like to come with me, ma’am?”_

“Not unless you’re taking me to his room,” the other woman crosses her arms over her chest, “Where have you been? Why doesn’t anyone in this hospital know what room Conrad Hawkins is in?” 

“Conrad Hawkins?” Hayley frowns, “I don’t have a patient by that name.”

"Oh for God’s sake,” the blonde woman reaches into her bag, Hayley considers taking a step back, her expression is outright murderous, “ _This_ man, Conrad Hawkins. White male, early thirties. Police called me to tell me he was hit by a drunk driver and is in the ICU. I’m his emergency contact. How many trauma patients could you possibly have?” Hayley steps forward to look at the phone screen the woman was holding. There he is, Tallahassee _(Nick? Conrad?)_. Awake and not intubated with his arm around the blonde woman and a smirk on his lips. In the photo, the woman is smiling widely, contrary to the look she's currently giving Hayley that suggests she may be plotting her murder. 

“It seems the police successfully identified him and neglected to tell us,” Hayley ignores the dig at her ICU. She right, Nick (Conrad) is her only trauma patient, but she didn’t have to _say_ it, “If you could follow me this way ma’am, we can discuss Ni- your fiancé’s condition.” 

“I want to see Conrad,” The other woman says again.

“Ma’am, there are rules. For privacy reasons, we cannot just allow anyone to enter a patient’s room,” Hayley tries to reason with her, “We need to verify you are who you say you are.” 

“Do you think I just drove from Atlanta to this place for fun?” Hayley bristles at the venom in her voice. “This place” had just worked for days to keep this guy alive, “I was called here, it’s been _days_ since I’ve heard from him. Days of imagining-” she cuts off and rubs her hand over her face. Hayley catches sight of the ring on her finger, reminding her who her patient is to this woman, “Please, can I just see him, just for a minute? I need to see with my own eyes that he’s alive.”

“Alright,” she relents, “Follow me.”

She knows what to expect; crying, maybe even fainting. A million questions that Hayley has to take a great deal of time to explain in a way the families understand, only to do it all over again when they’re too overwhelmed to remember anything she told them. It’s usually better if there’s more than one person to explain it to.

“Is there anyone else we can call?” She stops before they reach Nick’s room, “Seeing a loved one like this, it can be overwhelming. It may be better to have someone here with you.” 

“His dad is on a plane from LA,” The other woman replies, “He’ll probably find a way to land the jet closer than Atlanta, but he won’t be here for several hours at the earliest. I can handle it.” 

_If you say so_ ; Hayley leads her to Nick’s room, bracing herself for the tears.

They don’t come. The other woman takes several fast steps toward the bed, Hayley expects her to take his hand, maybe kiss his cheek. She does none of that, her focus instead on the monitors.

“What happened?” She turns towards Hayley expectantly, almost eerily calm. Not what she would have expected from a doting soon to be spouse.

“Perhaps you would like to sit down?” Hayley starts, though honestly she’s sort of unnerved by how unaffected this woman appears.

“I don’t need to sit down,” the other woman says, she points to the hemodialysis machine, “I need to know what's wrong with his kidneys, and why he’s not awake.” 

“How do you know-”

“I’m a nurse practitioner,” the other woman says, the interrupting is getting mildly irritating, “My sister died after complications from a kidney transplant. You don’t need to dumb it down, I don’t need to go into another room, I don’t need someone to hold my hand. Tell me what happened.” 

So Hayley tells her everything, starting from when he first appeared in the ER. She feels like a med student again, presenting a case report to a supervisor.

“I managed to stabilize the pneumothorax with an emergency thoracotomy. His CT scan showed extensive damage to his spleen and a subdural hematoma, he was rushed into emergency surgery. He also has a broken clavicle and several broken ribs, but there’s no reason those shouldn’t heal completely. The surgery was touch and go, the surgeons managed to repair the damage without a splenectomy, but it was close,” Hayley stops, unsure of whether she should go on. 

“Did he code?” Her voice is steady as a rock. She’s looking at Hayley, seemingly avoiding looking at her fiancé altogether.

“Yes, he went into cardiac arrest and required defibrillation and two injections of epi before they were able to bring him back. After surgery and a blood transfusion, he made it through the night. However, he had some kidney damage not seen on scans which worsened with a penicillin resistant post-op infection. The strain on his heart was considerable, I had to perform an emergency pericardiocentesis when fluid built up around his heart. That's when I decided to move ahead with dialysis. He did well, his GFR rose from 32 to 40 after one round.” The other woman absorbs all this with stoic silence.

“How are his intracranial pressures?”

“Holding steady,” Hayley says, “Unfortunately, with each day that goes by, the chances of him waking up decrease.” She expected some tears at that, or at least some reaction, but the other woman just nods. Hayley stands silently, unsure of what to say as the other woman absorbs the barrage of information Hayley just rattled off. She takes a deep breath, running her fingers through her hair and closing her eyes. 

“He’s allergic to doxycycline,” She says after a minute, “He’s had two previous surgeries on his knees, his father has Crohns. Nothing else really remarkable in his medical history, but I can have his records sent from Chastain so you can see them.” She turns towards the side table, reaching into the ziplock bag of his belongings. Hayley expects her to reach for the photo of who she assumes is this woman’s daughter (they both have blonde hair) but she ignores it, reaching instead for the watch that Hayley had spent a considerable amount of time studying the past few days. All of a sudden she feels very much the imposter, watching this other woman hold the timepiece she very likely gifted to the man unconscious between them. She flips it over to run her thumb over the engraving, just as Hayley had done a few hours before. 

_Ships Passing_

The other woman looks at her questioningly, Hayley’s face feels hot when she realizes she said the words out loud. 

“We looked through his belongings to try to identify him,” Hayley stammers as an explanation, “His wallet was destroyed in the crash.” The other woman seems to accept that, looking again at the watch.

“It’s something he says to me when we have opposite schedules, he’s an internal medicine resident at Chastain in Atlanta,” She says, “It’s a little melodramatic, but that’s Conrad.” She slips the watch into her pocket.

“He said his name was Nick, in the ER,” Hayley blurts out. She can’t help it, she has to know what that’s all about, how she had possibly interpreted what he said so poorly. The other woman doesn’t respond, but she finally turns to look at Conrad. Her expression softens considerably, and Hayley once again feels like she’s intruding. 

“My name is Nic,” She says softly. She takes a step forward to take his hand. Hayley registers what Nic had probably just realized herself. Faced with the very real possibility that he was about to die, the last word this man wanted to say was her name. Nic looks back up at Hayley, like she forgot she was there, “Can I have a minute alone with him?” 

“Just a minute, then I’m sorry to say we have some paperwork for you to fill out,” Hayley says. She steps out of the room, but finds herself watching Nic through the window. She’s still standing next to the bed, Conrad’s hand now held in both of hers. Her lips are moving, but Hayley can’t hear the words she says. She reaches forward, brushing dark blonde hair back from Nick’s ( _Conrad’s,_ damnit) forehead. The action seems completely second nature to her, like she’s done it thousands of times. When the tears start to fall, Hayley turns away, leaving her alone.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please let me know your thoughts, I have loved reading your comments. Happy Thanksgiving!


	5. Phineas Gage

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the delay. I decided all my writing was shit and had to start over whoopsie

Nic doesn’t leave his side all night, sleeping in the chair Hayley had previously occupied. It’s a slow night, and Hayley tells herself it’s for the best, this way she’s free to get some sleep in a bed rather than a stiff hospital chair. She steers clear from his room unless she’s needed. 

She misses the chair a little bit though. He was good company. But it’s not her chair, she was just the placeholder. 

When she rounds on him the next morning, she’s surprised to see Nic is no longer alone. She’s standing outside Nick’s - _Conrad’s_ \- room, talking to a police officer. An older man is beside her, listening carefully to the officer with his hand on Nic’s shoulder. She stops at the nurses’ station when she sees the hospital CEO standing beside them as well.

Great, what the hell does _he_ want?  
  
“Who is that?” Hayley asks Monica. 

“Patient’s father,” She replies, “He must be richer than God to have the CEO down here kissing his ass like that. I heard he got a charter to land his private jet at the municipal airport.” 

“Wow,” Guess they don’t have to worry about their patient being uninsured, “How was his night?”  
  
“Nothing much to report,” Monica says, “Nic barely slept, the poor dear. I can’t imagine how difficult this must have been for her.” Hayley declines to comment. So far her impression of the other woman is less than flattering, but it wasn’t her place to pass judgement on her patients, or their choice in spouse. She walks down the corridor towards Conrad’s room, catching the tail end of the conversation outside of it. 

“Once again ma’am, sir, I’m very sorry for the confusion this all caused,” The officer, the same one who had given Hayley the wallet and told her they were too busy to look into the car. 

“I arrived here and no one had any idea who I was, who he was,” Nic says angrily, she has her arms folded across her chest, “How did your department manage to contact me but leave his medical team out of the loop? Leaving him unidentified could have compromised his care,” Nic turns towards the CEO, “It didn’t, luckily. You should be very thankful for your staff, clearly you don’t deserve them.” 

“Ma’am,” The CEO takes a step forward, “I’m so sorry for the distress this caused you-”

“Don’t be sorry, fix it. I’m done with this conversation, I need to be with Conrad,” She turns towards the older man, Conrad’s father, “I’ll let you handle this.” Hayley gets some satisfaction in the knowledge that her animosity is not just limited to her fiance’s doctor. Plus she freaking hates that cop, and the CEO. Vindication. 

“Good morning Miss. Nevin,” Hayley greets her when she enters Conrad’s room. Nic is sitting next to the bed, her fingers curled around his arm, “How are we doing today?”

“I could ask you the same question,” Nic sits back and folds her hands in her lap, “And call me Nic, please.” 

“Well, Nic, overall, things are looking good,” Hayley takes the chart from the foot of the bed and flips through it, “His GFR is still in the low 40s, I’d like to do another round of dialysis today and see where we stand after that. We’ll also get an EEG and repeat head CT to take a look at his brain. But, his infection and kidney function has vastly improved, I’m about as optimistic as I can expect to be.” Nic breathes a sigh of relief at that, she relaxes incrementally. 

“You must be Conrad’s doctor,” The other man from outside enters the room and holds out his hand for Hayley to shake, “Marshall Winthrop. Thank you for taking such good care of my son.” 

“Dr. Lewis,” Hayley says awkwardly. She puts down the chart and gives Conrad a quick exam, “I think we can remove his dressings, he is healing well.”

“He’s doing okay,” Nic tells Marshall, “They’re going to do another round of dialysis, but hopefully that should be done soon too.”

“Good, once he’s stable enough we can have him transferred to Chastain,” Marshall says, “I’m sure he would much prefer to be home.” 

“Yeah, probably,” Nic stands to examine his cranial incision, “I owe you an apology,” She looks at Hayley, “I’m afraid you saw an unfortunate side of me last night. I asked the nurses about you, they all speak very highly. I read his chart, you made every right call. You have taken excellent care of him, and I was pretty awful. I’m not usually like that; it’s been a difficult few days.” 

Well that was unexpected.  
  
“Just doing my job,” Hayley tells her, unsure what else she’s supposed to say, “It looks like the officer outside may have experienced the same side of you.”

“Well, I don’t regret that,” Nic frowns, “I _knew_ something had happened to him, but no one would help me. I tried to report him missing, but the officer in Atlanta practically laughed me out of the precinct. He told me it was more likely he was ignoring my calls than something had happened to him.” Her voice grows thick, she looks down at Conrad and strokes his face, “I was weak enough to allow some asshole who I’ve never met convince me Conrad had left me. How could I have ever thought that, even for a second?” 

“Nic, none of this is your fault,” Marshall puts his hand on her shoulder, “When was the last time you slept? Or ate a decent meal? Why don’t you go to the hotel for a while, I’ll stay with Conrad. I promise I’ll call you if anything changes.” 

“Conrad told me that once,” Nic wipes at her eyes, “The next time I saw him he was running a code on my sister. I’m not leaving him.” 

“You can’t take care of him if you don’t take care of yourself,” Hayley told her, “He won’t be alone, you said yourself, we’ve taken excellent care of him.” Nic bites her lip, looking back at Conrad. 

“Alright,” she leans over and presses a kiss to his forehead, “I’ll be back later. I’m going to call Mina and Devon and give them an update.” Hayley nods, even though she has no idea who Mina and Devon are. 

“She’s the best thing that ever happened to my son,” Marshall says once Nic has left, “Conrad and I had barely spoken in 10 years. Nic helped to open him up, repair that relationship,” He rests his hand over his son's arm, “I’ll never be able to repay her for that.” Hayley can’t imagine going without talking to her father for ten years, even now. 

“I want to do a repeat CT to assess the swelling in his brain,” Hayley says, “I would have done it days ago, but the CEO was limiting what tests I could run while he was still unidentifiable, but now-” 

“Money is not an object,” Marshall just nods at her, like he understands the struggles of corporate healthcare, “Do whatever you need to do for my son.” 

* * *

“There,” Dr. Grant points to the scan so Hayley can see, “The swelling is localized to his left frontal lobe, where the subdural hematoma developed. That would explain why he hasn’t woken up yet.” Hayley lets out a deep sigh, biting on her thumbnail. This was not good. She wasn’t a neurologist, but you don’t have to be a brain surgeon to know that damage to the frontal lobe can be catastrophic for daily functioning. 

“What’s his prognosis?” Hayley asks. 

“It’s hard to say,” Dr. Grant says, “If he wakes up, and that’s still a big if at this point, he could have damage to his memory, personality changes, impulsivity. He could wake up a completely different person. Have you ever heard of Phineas Gage? His damage to his left frontal lobe was so pronounced those who knew him considered him an entirely new person. The man they knew before was functionally dead.” 

“He’s getting married,” Hayley says mournfully, “He’s a doctor, apparently a star resident at Chastain in Atlanta.”

“It’s a horrible shame,” Dr. Grant says sympathetically, “I can talk to the family.”

“That would probably be best,” Hayley agrees, “His fiancé is a NP, she knows her stuff. She’ll want to hear it from you.” 

“I’ll swing by during rounds,” Dr. Grant says. 

“Sounds good,” Hayley gets a page she reaches down to check it, “It’s the ER, page me if I’m not in the ICU when you do, will you? I’d like to be there.” 

Despite her ER consult, Hayley beats Dr. Grant to Conrad’s room for evening rounds, giving her the chance to check his most recent labs before he arrives. Nic is back, looking slightly better rested.

“Irving says the ER is busy without you,” Nic sits in her usual chair. She’s holding his unbandaged hand against her face, her free hand stroking his hair as Hayley’s seen her do before, “Devon is feeding the chickens, so don’t worry about them. He says he has more eggs than he ever wanted.” 

“You’re back,” Hayley announces herself, lifting Conrad’s chart from the edge of the bed, “Are you feeling better?”

“A little,” Nic says, “I slept and changed clothes, got a real meal at that diner down the road.”

“I love that place, especially post-call,” Hayley says. Nic takes her hand away from Conrad’s face, giving Hayley space to work. She keeps holding his hand, her thumb brushing back and forth along the inside of his wrist, “I thought that was your name.” Hayley gestures to the _Annabeth_ printed across his forearm. 

“No, Annabeth was a patient,” Nic traces the letters. She nods her head to the bag holding his things, “Her picture’s in there somewhere, it was the first patient Conrad lost.” 

Hayley remembers the first patient who died because of her, she can’t imagine what it would be like for that patient to be a child. 

“Sounds like he took it hard,” Hayley says, “That’s never easy.” 

“He takes everything hard,” Nic says, “He’s an intense person. I used to find it overwhelming, but now it’s one of my favorite things about him.” 

“Reminds me of myself,” Hayley said, “I always get too invested.”

“You’re good,” Nic says, and Hayley gets the feeling that’s extremely high praise, coming from her, “Where did you study?”

“Duke, for med school, Emory for residency and my critical care fellowship,” Hayley says, “I actually interviewed for a position at Chastain. I wanted to stay in Atlanta. In another life, we may have been colleagues.” 

“How did you end up here?” Hayley knows she’s not _trying_ to be rude, but she knows this small hospital is nothing on Chastain. She loved Emory, but even she had been impressed by the shiny hospital. 

“My dad,” Hayley says, “He has alzheimers. I took the chief position here to be close to my parents.” 

“Oh, I’m sorry,” Nic shifts uncomfortably, biting her bottom lip, “My mom died when I was a kid. And my dad,” she lets out a long breath, “It’s complicated. Marshall keeps telling me I should call him, he would want to come support me. But it always ends up the other way around. I don’t want to have to worry about taking care of my dad too, on top of everything.” 

“Maybe that’s not a bad idea,” Hayley says slowly, knowing Dr. Grant would be here soon to discuss what would upset anyone, even, Hayley thinks, someone as steady as Nic has proven herself to be. 

“Why?” Nic asks, “What's happened?” 

“Extra support is always a good thing,” Hayley stalls, “Where is Marshall?”

“He went to get something to eat,” Nic is not buying it. She frowns, narrowing her eyes slightly, “What aren’t you telling me?” Hayley takes a half step back, she can be extremely intimidating. Maybe Conrad isn’t the only intense one. 

“Dr. Grant will be here shortly,” She offers lamely, “Ni- Conrad’s neurosurgeon.” 

“I want to hear it from you,” Nic stands, Hayley is thankful for the bed between them, “ _You_ are his doctor.” 

“I- I’m not a neurosurgeon,” Hayley says, “I thought it would be better if-” Nic looks unimpressed, Hayley takes a shaky breath, “We did a repeat head CT today. There’s damage to his frontal lobe.” 

“What does that mean?” Her mask is back, her face gives nothing away. 

“We still don’t know if he’ll wake up,” Hayley says, Nic doesn’t react, she already knows that is a possibility, “But even if he does, we have no idea what state he will be in. There could be damage to his cognitive ability.”

“He might not be able to be a doctor?” Nic reacts to that. Hayley can relate, if she couldn’t be a doctor she’s not sure who she would be.

“It's... more than that. He might not wake up as the man you knew,” Hayley says, “Memory, personality, many of the things that make up who we are as individuals, it's in the frontal lobe.” 

“What?” Nic stumbles slightly when she realizes what that means, he could wake up and now know her, or he could wake up a completely different person than the man she loves. Hayley thinks she might fall, she grips the bedrail so hard her knuckles are white, “You said he was _fine._ ”

“I said we needed another head CT-” Hayley starts. 

“You should have done it sooner,” Nic’s voice cracks. Everyone has a limit to how much bad news they can hear in a given amount of time. Nic’s tolerance is impressive, but everyone will reach it eventually. 

“There’s no treatment for this,” Hayley says, “There’s nothing I could have-”

“Get out,” Nic sits heavily back in the chair, gripping the front of Conrad’s hospital gown. 

“I’m so sorry,” And she is, she really means it. She knows what it's like to have the person you love more than anything in the world not know you. To have them there, physically, breathing and talking and alive, but not _really_ there. Sometimes, she thinks it would be easier if he was just gone, fully, rather than a stranger in her father’s body. 

“Get OUT,” Nic dissolves into sobs, her head on Conrad’s chest. Hayley backs out the room, her own chest feeling tight. 

“Dr. Lewis,” Monica touches her arm, Hayley stares at her, eyes wide, “What’s wrong, what happened?”

“I-” Hayley can’t focus, all she can hear is Nic sobbing into her patient’s chest, “I can’t. I have to go.” She shrugs her off, walking blindly towards the ICU doors. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Putting my neuroscience minor to good use, and I love to torture Nic I guess. Apologies  
> As always, please leave a comment if you are so inclined! I have greatly enjoyed writing this story.  
> Also a heads up, the next three weeks I will be wrapping up my semester and will be very busy with finals, I may not be able to update weekly. I’ll definitely be back once exams are over!


	6. Meanwhile, in Atlanta

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Let's catch up with Nic, shall we?

“It’s a five hour drive, maybe you should just spend the night and call out tomorrow,” Nic holds the phone between her ear and shoulder so she can finish putting the dishes away, “I don’t like the idea of you driving through the night.”

“No way, if I trade for tomorrow I’ll be working for your birthday,” Conrad says from the other end of the phone, “If I leave now I’ll be home by two or so, and I can get a few hours of sleep before work.”

“Conrad, I don’t care about that,” She tells him, “We can celebrate after.” 

“No way! Nic, you’re turning 33; this is a _palindrome_ birthday,” Conrad says, “We need to celebrate it _on the day_.”

“You are such a child,” Nic rolls her eyes, “What’s so important that can’t wait another day?” 

“Let’s just say it involves me, you, and not a lot of clothes,” Nic lets out a dry laugh, most of Conrad’s “grand ideas” end up with her naked. 

“Alright, but promise me you will stop at a hotel if you get too tired,” Nic says, “I’m serious Conrad, it’s not worth it.”

“You are so worth it.”

“I’m _serious_.”

“So am I,” Conrad laughs, “I’m okay, Nic, really. I promise I’ll stop if I hit a wall, don’t worry about me okay?” 

“Okay,” Nic bites her lip, still not fully convinced, “Text me if you stop so I know you’re alright, will you?”

“Of course,” Conrad says, “I’ll be there when you wake up, maybe we can celebrate early.”

“Get your mind out of the gutter,” Nic says, rolling her eyes again but grinning in spite of herself, “I’m hanging up now, you shouldn’t drive distracted.”

“Hey Nic?” Conrad asks before she can. 

“Yeah?” She huffs, expecting another lame dirty joke.

“I love you, you know that?” Conrad asks. 

“I know,” Nic smiles, “You too. Drive safe.” 

Nic had scolded him for his dirty mind, but that doesn’t stop her from picking out one of his T-shirts to sleep in (because he totally has a thing for her in his clothes) and one of her sexier pairs of underwear. So when her alarm goes off at 6am the next morning, she’s mildly disappointed that he’s not next to her. She rolls over for her phone, expecting a text telling her he’d stopped and where, but there’s no new notifications. She sighs, muttering about how forgetful he can be, shooting him a text to check in. 

_Hey, did you stop somewhere? Call me when you get a chance. Love you._

She figures if he didn’t stop at a hotel, he may have gone straight to Chastain to sleep for a while before his shift as he’s done before; she grabs a clean pair of scrubs for him if that’s the case. Besides mild annoyance at him forgetting to text, she doesn’t really give it much thought as she eats some breakfast and takes a quick shower before heading into work. They have hectic schedules; it's not unusual for them to go some time without checking in. Once she gets to work, she’s distracted by the demands of everyone around her, and Conrad’s whereabouts fall to the back of her mind. 

* * *

It’s really amazing, the human mind. It will make up every increasingly unlikely excuse before it will entertain the worst possible scenario. Nic doesn’t panic when Devon finds her later that morning, concerned Conrad hasn’t answered any of his pages. She brushes it off, even though it's the most un-Conrad action she can think of. She doesn’t panic when she checks her phone, her message still unread even though Conrad has never, in all the years she’s known him, gone three hours without responding to her. 

She doesn’t panic when his phone goes to voicemail once, twice, three times; even though he always, _always_ picks up for her, no matter what. 

There were a million scenarios in which Conrad is perfectly fine, with reasonable, if unlucky, excuses as to why he wasn’t back in Atlanta yet and why he wasn’t answering his phone. It could have died, or he could have forgotten it at a gas station. It even could have been stolen. His stupid car he refuses to get rid of even though he hardly drives it and she has a better one anyway finally broke down and he had to stop, or he witnessed some kind of accident and jumped in to help. That would be so typical, always playing the hero.

It isn’t until she scans into his office (friend in IT gave her access weeks ago) that she starts to panic. She’s half expecting to find him asleep on the couch with the lame excuse that his phone had died. So she could glare at him and give him a lecture, and he would just kiss her and call her beautiful in a highly infuriating way. 

The office is empty, his white coat draped neatly across the back of the chair, his pager in the center of the desk. It was just how they had left it on Friday; the cup of pencils still overturned from when he had pushed her to sit on his desk when their goodbye got a little out of hand. 

For some reason, the pencils are what do the trick. His standards of order are lower than her own, but even he would have picked them up. Nic does now, one at a time, before returning them to the jar and placing it upright on the desk. 

Conrad has not been here, and he never made it home.

“Nic,” Mina knocks on the half-open door, pushing it further open, sent by Devon as emotional and pragmatic support, “Are you okay?”

“He’s not here,” She’s trying desperately not to panic, but it’s proving to be a losing battle. She turns towards Mina, pointing at the desk with a shaking hand, at the pencils that weren’t picked up and the pager not strapped to Conrad’s pocket and the lab coat not around his shoulders as it should be, “He never came home. I- where _is_ he?”

Mina is practical, she goes through all the scenarios Nic has already discarded. The car broke down, his phone died, he lost it or it was stolen. But Mina doesn’t know Conrad, well she _does_ but not like Nic knows Conrad. She doesn’t know that Conrad would have found some way, any way, to get in touch with Nic by now. Because he knows how she worries even when she shouldn’t and she is way, _way_ beyond worry by now. The room feels hot, all of a sudden her scrubs and lab coat are suffocating. Nic claws at her collar, it feels so tight, she can’t breathe.

“Whoa, okay, sit down Nic,” Mina guides her to the lounge chair in the office, probably a good idea, “Deep breaths.” 

“Something is wrong,” Nic fiddles with her engagement ring, twirling it around her finger, “I told him not to drive. God, Mina what if he-”

“Hey don’t go there,” Mina puts a comforting hand on her shoulder, “When was the last time you spoke to him?” 

“Last night,” Nic tries to steady her breathing, “He was leaving Camden.” One of his medical school buddies was running a rural clinic, and Conrad went that weekend to help out. 

“Alright, that’s not that long ago,” Mina gives her a reassuring smile, “He’s probably fine.” 

“No, no he should be here,” Nic shakes her head, “Not answering his pages? My calls? That’s not Conrad. Something’s happened. I’m sure of it.” 

“Ok, what do you want to do?” Mina can't really argue with her on who the Conrad expert is, “Do you want to go to the police?” 

“Yeah,” Nic lets out a long breath. She needs to do something, sitting around and waiting will surely make her go insane. 

“Alright,” A woman of action, Mina stands, “My shift just ended. Let’s find someone to cover for you.” 

“You don’t have to come with me,” Nic says lamely, even though she really doesn’t want to go alone. 

“Don’t be ridiculous,” Mina rolls her eyes, “Of course I do.”

* * *

“I’m sorry ma’am,” The detective across the desk from her gives her a half-assed sympathetic look, the human personification of the stale coffee smell lingering in the air of the precinct, “But a few unanswered calls and one day of missed work doesn’t constitute a missing person.” Nic fists her hands in her lap, worrying her bottom lip between her teeth. This is the third police station she and Mina have come to in an attempt to file a missing person report, all giving them variations of the same line. Tradition suggests a 24 hour waiting period before registering an adult as missing. Tradition, not official protocol. He _could_ file the report, but he won’t. Nic wants to scream, or cry, or throw the stapler at the detective’s head. Maybe all three. Only the stapler would get her arrested, but it’s the most tempting option. 

“I understand what your standard procedure is,” Nic fiddles with the hem of her fleece, wondering if she should have changed out of her scrubs before going on a mad hunt around the city for a law enforcement officer who would take her seriously, “But I know Conrad. He’s never missed a day of work. It’s not like he has a desk job, he’s a doctor. He takes it very seriously; and it’s completely unlike him to ignore my calls. Are you telling me you never make exceptions?” 

“Unfortunately this doesn’t seem to me to be an exception,” He leans back in his chair, a voice in her head (sounding sort of like Jessie) tells her to kick the damn thing out from under him, “You have to understand, I see dozens of these a day, nine out of ten times, they prove to be an overreaction.” Mina huffs at that, but stays quiet. They learned at precinct number one it’s better if she lets Nic do the talking. More of a people person; though her patience is about as thin as it ever gets at this point. 

“Then let it be an overreaction!” Nic runs her fingers through her hair, her ring snags on a few strands, she has to brush them out of her eyes. She takes a deep breath, losing her temper is what got them dismissed from precinct number two, “What’s the harm in just filing the report?” 

“Do you know how much time and money is spent annually looking for missing people who never should have been reported in the first place?” The officer slides the forms across the desk to Nic, “Come back after 24 hours and we can see about filing.” 

“I’m pretty sure my tax dollars provide your budget,” Nic bites back, pushing the completed forms back towards him, “I’m a nurse, I know when a situation warrants action and when it doesn’t. And more importantly, I know my fiancé.” 

“Ma’am,” The officer glances at his watch, he should have been at lunch ten minutes ago. The motion is not lost on Nic, she narrows her eyes in a glare, “The vast majority of adults reported missing, especially men, are not missing. It’s not a crime for an adult to disappear, have you considered the possibility that he doesn’t want to be found?” 

Now she _really_ wants to throw the stapler at him. Or maybe scream. Or cry. 

Because no, it hadn’t occurred to her. Not even for a fraction of a second. Conrad leaving her was as unfathomable as the sky falling. He loves her. She knows this. She _knows_. Because he tells her, so sure and unguarded and so far from the man who wouldn’t let her in no matter how hard she tried. Because he looks at her like she’s the only person in the room, the center of his world. Because he reaches for her, a graze of his fingers over hers, a hand brushing over the small of her back, a forehead against hers. He traces novels against her skin with his fingers; Nic wonders what story he’s writing. How long is it? When will it end? She’s not keen to find out, she never wants to entertain the idea of an ending. 

Their story doesn’t end here. It can’t.

Nic stares at the officer in stunned silence. He has no earthly idea what he was talking about, statistics be damned. Wherever Conrad is, he wants her to find him.

Right?

_Right?_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the delay, thank you all for the good luck wishes on my finals, they went very well. I originally wanted this chapter to follow Nic all the way through the 5 days Conrad has been in the ICU and get her point of view on things, then catch up with the story and move forward from there. But it's taking me too long to write so I'm splitting it up into two chapters (maybe three, oh boy.)  
> As always please let me know your thoughts, and happy holidays to all those that celebrate :)  
> Also PSA it is 10000% illegal for cops to outright refuse to file a missing person report and you do not actually have to wait 24 hours to file one. But for the sake of drama we're gonna pretend, okay?


	7. In Vino Veritas

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi I'm back. Technically, it's Sunday where I am but the day doesn't truly change until you sleep, and I haven't slept yet.  
> The next few chapters are going to be ridiculously self-indulgent angst. Be warned.

“We’ve released photographs of Dr. Hawkins to every police precinct in Georgia, there’s been no report of John Does matching his description. The car hasn’t turned up, there’s really not much more we can do,” Nic lets out a deep sigh, rubbing her thumbnail along the handle of her coffee mug, she’d just refilled it, even though it was early evening. 

“But you’re still looking?” Nic asks. 

“Yes, but this seems less and less like a missing person,” The officer says, “It may be time to consider the possibility that he doesn’t want to be found.” 

“Just keep looking,” Nic says briskly, gripping her cellphone tight against her ear. She hangs up, rubbing her hands over her face. She hardly slept the night before or the one before that; the bed too large and cold without Conrad beside her. It's been a day since she successfully filed the missing person report, three since she last spoke to Conrad. She would have thought after three days the car would have turned up by now, or she would have gotten a call from some doctor in some hospital, telling her that Conrad is injured, or worse...

No. Nic dismisses that thought immediately. Conrad is not dead, the world isn’t that cruel. She couldn’t possibly lose the most important person in her life for a third time; there wouldn’t be anything of her left. 

But if he’s not dead, where is he? 

Nic is saved from her mental rabbit hole when her phone rings, she grabs it quickly, hoping it’s the police. 

It’s Mina. Nic hits ignore, feeling a little guilty. The doorbell rings, and she almost trips over her own sock clad feet in her rush to answer it. 

“You shouldn’t ignore my calls,” Mina holds up her phone when Nic answers the door. Nic rolls her eyes, walking back to the kitchen for Mina to follow.

“You shouldn’t show up at my house unannounced. It’s rude,” Nic says, “I don’t want to talk about calling Marshall.” She doesn’t really want to talk about anything.

“You need to call him. He’s Conrad’s father, he has a right to know,” Mina closes the front door and walks behind Nic, “And he can help. His private investigator can look into it.”

“But what is he going to find?” Nic sits heavily at the island, “If he was in a morgue or a hospital he would have been reported by now. What other explanation is there?” 

“Nic, just because that cop said it’s the most likely-”

“Most likely?” Nic scoffs, “Do you think for even a second I believe Conrad deciding overnight he wants to walk out on our life is the _most likely_ scenario? Do you not think I’ve sat here, in our home, where we talk about raising a family, and come up with every possible alternative?” 

“Nic-”

“Happy birthday, babe. I’m leaving you,” Nic continues, “But I don’t even have the balls to say it to your face. I just thought I would disappear. Abandon you, all our friends, and my patients. Does that sound like Conrad?” 

“No, it doesn’t!” Mina answers, “Will you stop biting my head off? I’m here to help.” 

Right, don’t make all your friends hate you. Deep breaths Nic.

“I’m sorry,” Nic pinches the bridge of her nose, attempting to relieve her now constant headache. Mina has been amazing, everyone at Chastain has, really. Nurses have rallied around her to cover her shifts, Irving and Devon have pulled doubles in the ER and other internal residents have stepped up big time to fill the void left by Conrad. Even Bell had offered his support, though Nic is pretty sure that was mostly Kit’s influence, “It’s killing me. Something happened to him and I can’t do anything but sit here and think horrible things like that while I wait for the phone to ring.” 

“You need to eat,” Mina placed a to-go bag on the counter, Nic hadn’t even realized she was holding it, “I brought you the chicken salad from Trina Taqueria.”

“I’m not hungry,” Nic says. 

“I did not ask if you were hungry, I said you need to eat,” Mina opens the salad for her and hands her a fork, glaring at her until she takes a bite, “And you need to call Marshall.” 

“I don’t want to call him,” Nic says through a mouthful of romaine, the food tastes like sandpaper, but she eats about half of it before pushing it away, Mina is satisfied with that.

“I did not ask if you wanted to call him,” Mina hands Nic her phone, Marshall’s contact pulled up. Nic wonders how Mina knows her phone password, “Let him help Nic, don’t go through this alone.” Nic takes the phone with a sigh. Mina’s right, even if Nic may not like what he’s able to find, he can probably find it faster than the police. She presses call; putting it on speaker so Mina can hear.

“Hello?” Marshall picks up promptly. 

“Marshall, it’s Nic,” She picks at the cuff of her sweater nervously, “I’m sorry to bother you-”

“Not at all,” Marshall says, “Is everything okay?” He asks the question as if he already knows the answer. Of course everything is not okay. In fact, it must be precisely the opposite of okay if Nic is calling him rather than his son. 

“No, unfortunately not,” Nic doesn’t have the energy anymore to mince words, she tells him plainly. Marshall takes the news calmly, questioning her more thoroughly than the police did. 

When did you last talk to him?

Where was he?

What car was he driving?

More and more questions, Nic answers them all robotically, she’s been going over every detail in her head non-stop for the past two days. 

“I’ll have my private investigator look into it,” Marshall tells her when he’s exhausted his line of questioning, “Call me if anything changes. Day or night.”

“Right,” Nic says, “Thanks, Marshall.” She hangs up and rests her chin on her hands on the counter. 

“Nic, come on,” Mina puts a comforting hand on her shoulder, “Let’s go for a walk, you need to get out of the house. Have you slept at all?” 

“Do any of us ever sleep?” Nic stands and puts her mug in the sink, “I’m going to stay here, you should go back to work. Save lives.” 

“Nic-”

“ _Mina_ ,” Nic replies, “I can’t, okay? I don’t want to distract myself. I just want to sit here and be miserable and I need you to let me do that.” 

“Alright,” Mina stands up to leave, “I’m going to call you later, and you better pick up or I’m coming back over, deal?”

“Deal.” 

Left alone, Nic opens a bottle of wine, hoping to soothe her nerves (maybe the third cup of coffee was a mistake). She’s not that productive. She tries to read, but after skimming the same paragraph a dozen times she gives up. She does some channel surfing, but not even the cooking channels she usually enjoys can hold her attention for long. One glass turns into two, then three. She stands to pace the house she’s barely left in days; remnants of him everywhere. His jacket is hanging in the foyer, his favorite protein bars are in the pantry, a pair of his socks are half under the armchair of the living room. 

Nic puts the empty glass down, a little harshly. Her head feels fuzzy, it’s kind of nice, fuzzy thoughts are better than anxious ones. But her fuzzy thoughts are not her sharpest, her critical thinking skills are dulled and doubt rushes in, like cold air in the winter time when you open the door too long. 

She tells her nursing students: look for a horse, not a zebra. It’s more likely to be a rare presentation of a common diagnosis than a common presentation of a rare diagnosis. She stares at the socks; mens, size ten. Probably a little sweaty, at some point. 

It’s been three days. 

What’s your diagnosis, Nic? 

She turns away, too quickly, the glass falls and shatters on the floor. 

Shit. 

It’s like a sign, the shattered glass. Maybe a metaphor. Or is it a simile? Nic slept through most of her english class in high school. Back when her hair was blue and she was angry at the world for letting her mother die. 

Whatever, the class was stupid anyway. Why can’t people just say what they mean? Don’t hide behind embroidered hyperbole. 

Esoteric even in her own head; Nic leaves the shards on the floor and grabs the bottle instead, taking a swig like she’s back in college. 

“Fuck,” Much more accessible vocabulary. Fuck the wine glass. Fuck those stupid socks on her floor.

It’s getting late, the sky outside the window is dark. Nic turns all the lights on, trying to feel less alone. It doesn’t work, the socks keep staring at her. Mocking her. She drinks more of the wine.

In vino veritas; it’s staring her in the face now. Those stupid fucking socks. 

Upstairs, maybe the alcohol will help her sleep. She won’t see the socks. She leaves the lights on, leaves the glass shards and socks on the hardwoods as she goes up the stairs, bottle in hand. She stumbles slightly at the top and tries not to look at the pictures they’d framed to decorate the upstairs hallway. There’s not a lot, Conrad had insisted on leaving space for pictures of their kids one day. 

Kids he wanted, and she... maybe did? She wasn’t sure. She hadn’t said no, but she hadn’t said yes either, and she knows what answer Conrad wants to hear. Maybe that’s where he was, with someone who will give him the kids he wants. Who _can_ give him the kids he wants; her track record is discouraging.

She opens the door to the bedroom. God, she’s such an idiot. This is so much worse. She puts the now empty bottle on the bedside table, right next to a picture of them at Devon's disaster of a wedding. She sits on the edge of the bed. Their bed. The bed where he’s the last thing she sees before she goes to sleep and the first thing she sees when she wakes up. The bed where they sleep in on Sundays, where he goes downstairs to get the coffee so she can stay warm under the covers. The bed where they talk about their days or the weather or where they want to go on their next date night. The bed where they make love. 

There’s a lump in her throat she can’t swallow, Nic looks down at her hands. They’re shaking, or maybe there are tears in her eyes making them blur? She blinks, it’s both. The tears slide down her cheeks and drop onto her legging clad thighs. 

Her phone rings, Nic reaches into her sweater pocket to retrieve it, hoping against hope to see Conrad’s picture. 

It’s Mina, Nic answers. 

“Nothing has changed,” Nic says by way of greeting, “I want to be alone.” 

“Nic-”

“ _Mina,_ ” Nic is very good at this. She’s tapping into the adolescent anger she never really dealt with properly. When she was fifteen and sleeping through english class she was also driving a wedge between herself and her father. Not that Kyle was a good Dad by any means, but Nic hadn’t made it easy for him. What with her resentment and being too smart to believe him when he lied. How she resembled her Mom so closely it was hard for him to look at her, “Don’t come over here.” She hangs up even though Mina doesn’t deserve that. She’ll feel guilty about it later, just add it to the list of things she needs to apologize for. 

Jessie had blamed her for their Dad, Nic had too. Still does, a little bit, even though she was the child and he was supposed to be the adult. 

Jesus, she’s in her thirties and still carries that shit around. No wonder she doesn’t want kids. 

Conrad had understood, he’d never judged her for any of it. He’d promised he would never leave her. He would be the thing that stays. 

He had _promised_. 

Nic feels like she might die, as pathetic as that is. As much as she wants to be strong enough to think she can survive this. Maybe she will, with time. She’d survived her Mom and she’d survived Jessie and maybe she can survive this.

But she’d had Conrad; he was pretty much the only thing to get her through losing Jessie.

She looks back down at her phone, selecting a familiar contact and holding the device up to her ear. She lays down over the covers as it rings, on his side of the bed. She can smell him on the pillow. 

_This is Dr. Conrad Hawkins, leave a message._

She’s left dozens of messages over the past three days, ranging from worried to frantic to angry. This one is different, she’s resigned to the beep. 

“Conrad, this- this is the last message I’m going to leave for you.” Nic is quiet for a moment, the dead air on the line feels heavy, “The last thing you said to me is that you love me. If this is real, if you’ve really left me, then that was a lie. And you’re a coward.” Nic sniffs, her bottom lip wobbles as a sob wells up in her throat. Damn it, this was not the collected message she wants to leave him with, “I deserve to know why, how could you walk away from our life? I was going to marry you, how the hell am I supposed to pick up the pieces if you’re gone?” Nic is sobbing now, her tears are soaking the pillow, “Please don’t do this. What did I do? I’m sorry, I’m so sorry.” The answering machine cuts her off, a cool robotic voice asks if she wants to re-record her message, or she can hang up. Nic’s thumb hovers over the screen, she considers her options.

She hangs up. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I tried to be fair to Nic, give some reasoning why she would let herself come to this conclusion, when the Conrad we know would never walk out on her in a million years. Hopefully I accomplished that. Not trying to make her the bad guy.  
> As always let me know your thoughts, I'll see you next week <3


	8. Better to Know

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Nic finally gets some answers

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> it me :) not updating on a Saturday like the liar I am

Nic blinks awake, fumbling for her phone vibrating violently on the bedside table. 

Mina. _Again._ Nic hits ignore, noting the time before putting the phone down. It's just after 1 pm; She’s not sure she’s slept this late since college. 

“Ow,” Nic rolls over with a groan. She’s certain her head hasn’t pounded like this in a very long time. Her stomach doesn’t feel all that great either. She should take a shower, drink some water. Maybe try eating something.

She does none of these things, just pulls the blankets over her head and buries her nose in Conrad’s pillow. 

The damn vibrations jolt her awake just as she’s dozing off again. She huffs, grabbing the device and blindly pressing answer.

“ _What?_ ” Nic expects the half irritated, half concerned voice of Mina to answer.

“Is this Nicolette Nevin?” She sits up at the unfamiliar voice, ignoring the protesting throb behind her temples.

“Yes,” she holds the phone with both hands, suddenly shaking, “Yes this is she. Who is this?” 

“This is officer Grayson from the Coffee County Police Department, I understand you are the emergency contact for one Conrad Hawkins?” 

Nic swings her legs over the edge of the bed, stumbling over her words. For one maddening moment, she considers hanging up the phone. Does world-ending news still get delivered if no one is there to receive it? 

“Yes, yes I’m his fiancé,” she looks at her ring, “Is he-” She stops. Conrad can’t be dead. She would know if he was dead, she’d feel it somehow. She had woken up that day, her world is still turning. Conrad must still be in it. 

“I’m afraid he was involved in a drunk driving incident, it’s my understanding he sustained serious injuries and is currently alive but critical in the ICU. How soon can you get to Douglas Regional Hospital?” 

“Um,” Nic has no idea where the hell Douglas is, but she knows she’ll be there as soon as humanly possible, “I’m in Atlanta, I can leave right now.” 

As it turns out, Douglas is a three hour drive, giving Nic ample time to stew on the questions she should have asked over the phone, had she not been preoccupied with stuffing a few articles of clothing haphazardly into her duffle bag. 

What type of car accident?

Why didn’t a doctor call her?

She should have asked for more details on his condition, she’s a nurse practitioner for goodness’ sake. 

And most importantly, why didn’t she hear anything for four days?

Answers she will get in due time, with (righteous) anger. For now, Nic focuses on what she can do, one step at a time. Formulaic. She packs a bag, remembering some joggers and a t-shirt for Conrad. She calls Mina, more than apologetic, and talks her friend down from accompanying her to Douglas. She calls Marshall, and he makes arrangements to fly the jet from LA before he even hangs up the phone. She turns off the lights she left on the night before. She picks up the broken glass (leaves the socks). She locks the front door, wondering if she’ll be alone when she opens it again. She gets in her car, stops for gas and a water bottle and a bag of trail mix, and she drives. 

The gps on her phone says three and a half hours to Douglas, she makes it there in just under three, equally anxious to arrive and dreading what she might find. 

* * *

“What do you mean there are no patients by that name?” Nic runs her fingers through the blonde strands that had fallen out of the rushed bun she’d thrown her hair into, “Conrad Hawkins, H-A-W-K-I-N-S.”

“I’m sorry ma’am,” The receptionist looks at her sympathetically, “I don’t see a patient by that name in the ICU." 

“What about the medicine floor?” Maybe he got transferred, that would be good. That means he’s doing well. 

“I don’t see a patient by that name in any department,” she says, “Perhaps you have the wrong hospital?” 

“Is there another hospital in Coffee County?” Nic tries and fails to keep the mockery out of her voice.

“Well, no-”

“Then why the hell did I get a call from officer so-and-so from the Coffee County Police Department telling me my fiancé is in the ICU and I should get here as soon as possible if he wasn’t here?” Nic puts her elbow up on the counter, “Look again. He was brought in four days ago after a car accident.” 

“Ma’am there really isn’t much I can do if he’s not in the system,” The receptionist says, “Let me call the ICU, see if the chief can help you find the patient.” 

“Why don’t you,” Nic pulls out her phone to a text from Mina, asking for an update. She informs her that she’s no closer to Conrad than she was a half hour before, promising to call her as soon as there’s news to give and reminding her she should be paying better attention to the patients under her care. 

“It seems the chief is out of the hospital at the moment,” The receptionist hangs up the phone, “She should be back shortly for evening rounds, they can have her call you then but as visiting hours are over at five-”

“You have got to be kidding me,” Nic cuts her off, it’s 4:55, but there’s no way in hell she’s leaving without seeing Conrad, “Page her! Is she the only doctor you have working in the ICU?”

“Due to HIPPA regulations, only the chief would be qualified to speak with you,” The receptionist begins. Nic doesn’t hear the rest of her statement, she turns and follows the signs towards the ICU, taking matters into her own hands. 

She becomes her own worst nightmare, a belligerent visitor making life difficult for the hospital staff. She can’t be bothered to care, her frustration quickly descending to outrage by the time she finally, _finally_ gets shown to Conrad’s room by his diffident seeming doctor.

The moment she sees him, it’s like her brain shuts off connection with her heart. All the emotions she’s been feeling are snapped away and she’s Nurse Nevin. Clinical, detached. Because right now what matters is information. Information that will keep her from thinking too hard about how Conrad has a tube down his throat breathing for him, looking like Jessie, or her mother the last time Nic saw them. Information that will keep her from trying to remember the last words he said to her. The last words she said to _him._

He had said I love you.

Had she said it back? She does, so why didn’t she say it?

Exactly the thoughts she doesn’t need right now, if she is to remain on her feet. She takes in the monitors, interrogates his doctor (Dr. Lewis, she told her earlier when Nic was too angry to listen) categorizes and sorts through the information in order of importance, in the degree to which it will affect the trajectory of his life, and thus her life, from this moment on. She replays the sequence of events Dr. Lewis recites in her head, looking for flaws in his treatment and finding none. It takes probably a minute or so of silence for Nic to process what rivals her mother and sister’s deaths as the worst information she’s ever been faced with. 

She closes her eyes. 

She breathes. What feels like her first real breath in four days. 

She’d been questioning whether she would prefer to know or remain ignorant to the ugly truth. It’s better to know.

Then she starts to speak, his medical history she knows as well as her own. She rummages through the ziplock on the bedside in search of his watch, wanting something tactile as she’s not sure she’s brave enough to touch him yet. She remembers the day she gave it to him, almost two whole years ago, on their second anniversary. Just before that horrible New Year’s that shattered their stupid puppy love and made things real and painful. Conrad had initially refused, saying she’d spent way too much money (which she did). But Nic had insisted, and he barely took it off and had given her the ring she still wore on her right hand, though she didn’t know the true significance of it at the time. 

She learns from Dr. Lewis that his wallet was destroyed, no ID. Another piece of information; Nic is slowly putting the pieces together and thinks she’d like to have another chat with that police officer about what the fuck he’s been doing for the past four days while her world was crumbling around her. She puts the watch in her pocket. Miraculously, it seems unharmed; she’ll give it back to Conrad when he wakes up.

Nic looks at this other woman. She’s young, surprisingly young for a chief. She’s pretty, but Nic can easily recognize the telltale signs of exhaustion. The skin under her eyes is dark, her blue irises red-rimmed. Her chestnut brown hair is in a messy bun similar to the one Nic had hurriedly tied on the back of her neck. Her lab coat is wrinkled, meaning it’s been tossed over the ends of on call room beds rather than pressed and carefully hung up. Nic feels a little guilty, the fact that Conrad is still alive is likely because this woman has gone without sleep. And she acted like a total bitch. 

She’s about to apologize when Dr. Lewis speaks, rather abruptly. 

“He said his name was Nick, in the ER.” 

Nic turns to look at him, Dr. Lewis practically forgotten, because she can’t possibly understand what that sentence means. Really, it’s the most important thing she’s told Nic so far.

“My name is Nic,” she says it more to herself than anything. Leave it to Conrad to prioritize her, even when he’s dying and should be telling his doctor _his_ name. It would have made her life a whole lot easier these last few days. 

She can’t find it in her to be angry about that right now (though she’s confident she’ll have no problem finding it again when she talks to the police). She takes his hand, and all she can think is how madly in love with him she is. If that’s all she can really feel here, at the end of her tether, that’s pretty good. 

“Can I have a minute alone with him?” Because she really thinks she’s about to cry, and she doesn’t want to do it in front of a stranger. 

She’s left alone, and she takes his hand in both of hers, running her thumbs over the familiar calluses. 

“Hi,” She squeezes his hand, disappointed but not surprised when he doesn’t squeeze back, “I told you not to drive that damn car.” She blinks the tears down her cheeks, not bothering to wipe them away. She brushes his hair back the way he likes, it looks so flat against his forehead under the cranial dressings. There’s a lot of words she wants to say, but they catch in her throat. 

“I love you,” She settles on an easy, indelible truth. She leans over to press a kiss to his cheek, “I’m not going anywhere.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> No spoilers, but I thought the premiere was pretty good. I would have spent more time on COVID, but I know why they did what they did. Loved the wedding obvi. I'm just so happy this show is back! I missed it. I also watched 4x02 as its available on Hulu. My spoiler free review: :)  
> I can't wait to see how this season unfolds.  
> Also, can I just say I felt so powerful when Nic originally wanted burgundy flowers because in my wedding fic I gave her burgundy flowers because I thought they were her style and I like burgundy flowers lol anyway byeeee


	9. Weight

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> (More) bad news for Nic

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm sorry this took me a literal month to write, my semester is absolutely insane and it feels like my every waking moment is taken up by school. I'm hoping to have the next chapter out as soon as I can.

“Hello Ms. Nevin,” Nic blinks awake, rubbing at her eyes from dozing in the chair next to Conrad’s bed, “Sorry to wake you, I just need to change his IV.”

“Oh, of course,” Nic stands and walks around to the other side of the bed to give the nurse some space. She sits on the edge of his bed, idly fiddling with the ruby ring on her right hand. 

“That’s very pretty,” The nurse comments, she has a kind smile and helps Nic feel more at ease. She reminds her of Hundley, and does an excellent job changing the saline and setting the flow rate under Nic’s watchful eye.

“Thank you,” Nic looks at Conrad with a small smile, “Conrad gave it to me, it was his mother’s.” 

“Are his parents on their way?” The nurse asks, “You should have some support here, dear.” 

“His father is,” Nic replies, “He should be here first thing in the morning. His mother died a long time ago. I never met her.”

“He’s lucky to have you,” The nurse preps Conrad's arm to draw some blood. She does a fine job, but Nic’s fingers itch to do it herself, to ensure everything is done perfectly. 

“I’m the lucky one,” Nic can’t help but feel that if the roles were reversed, Conrad would find some way to _do_ something. Nic feels utterly useless thus far, “How often are his labs run?” She compromises her desire to grab the syringe by asking for details beyond what would be typical for a hospital visitor, but she’s not just any visitor. 

“Every thirty minutes, per Dr. Lewis,” The nurse answers her, “She wants to carefully monitor his electrolytes.” 

“I don’t know your name,” Nic mentally berates herself, she’s a nurse, she should know better. 

“Monica,” she answers with another smile. She’s done with the arm, Nic switches sides so she can hold Conrad’s unbandaged hand. They talk for a while, about trivial, mundane things; they swap anecdotal nursing advice. It’s nice, a small spot of normalcy when Nic’s life has been thrown into such a jumbled, confusing mess. 

“Monica,” Nic says, “I want to ask you... Dr. Lewis, is she one of the good ones?” The title of chief means little and less to Nic after years of HODAD. 

“Ms. Nevin,” Monica tries to deflect, looking understandably uncomfortable, “I’m just a nurse.”

“I don’t mean to insult you, and I understand you don’t want to speak badly about your colleagues. Your hospital is your family, _believe_ me, I understand,” Nic says, “But I’m a nurse too. I know too much. I have to make sure he is in the best possible hands.” 

“Miss. Nevin, I don’t really know if I’m the best person-”

“Of course you are,” Nic gives her a sad smile, “Nurses know everything. Please, try to understand. Who is the most important person in your life?” Monica sighs, looking at Nic clutching Conrad’s hand like a lifeline. 

“My son is about his age,” She finally says, “If it were him, Dr. Lewis would be the person I would want taking care of him. It's not even close.” Nic breathes a sigh of relief. 

“Thank you,” She stroked her thumbs over the back of Conrad’s hand, wishing he would return the gesture, “and call me Nic, please. Miss. Nevin just sounds weird.” 

“Okay, Nic,” Monica puts a comforting hand on her shoulder, “We’re going to take care of him, okay? Take that off your shoulders, just focus on being here as his fiancé, not his nurse. Alright?”

“Yeah,” Nic’s given her own version of the same sentiment to patients and family members thousands of times. It feels disorienting to be on the receiving end, “I feel really useless. It’s a new feeling.” Monica gives her a squeeze.

“Try to get some sleep, dear,” She says, “I can only imagine how you’ve been feeling.” 

Nic can’t sleep, she stands up and paces the room, trying to relieve the ache that's settled in her low back. She grabs his chart of the foot of the bed (Jeez, it’s been _years_ since she’s seen a paper chart) and flips through it. Monica gave Dr. Lewis as glowing a review as any, and when she’d walked Nic through his stay it seemed she’d done everything right. But Nic needs to be sure. There’s notes scribbled in the margins of his lab results, comparing recent results with older ones since she doesn’t have a computer to do it for her. She’d even plotted a rough graph of his GFR to see it’s progress over dialysis. Nic’s impressed, she’s very thorough, it reminds her of herself. Lewis’ op report for the pericardiocentesis is brief, and there’s no accompanying ultrasound report. She’d gone in blind, probably saving his life and risking her own job. That reminds Nic of something Conrad would do. 

Nic sighs, returning the chart to the edge of the bed.

“I don’t even know what I want to find,” Nic tells him, “Would it be better for there to have been a mistake, why you’re not awake yet? Would assigning blame make it easier?” Nic sits back in the chair, drawing her knees to her chest. How many hours has she spent in uncomfortable chairs next to hospital beds? Countless. 

“You remember what you said to me,” Nic reaches forward and strokes his cheek, “I’m stuck with you. You better wake up Conrad.”

* * *

One thing Nic’s learned spending a great deal of time in hospitals: they’re very boring. She sits in that chair and holds Conrad’s hand and waits, hopes, even prays (to who exactly, she’s not really sure. She was raised in a household with a vague understanding of God and hadn’t really maintained the belief after thirteen) for something to change. She also sits in horrible, gut wrenching fear of something changing for the worse. That always seems to be the direction life takes for her. 

There are pockets of interest. Marshall arrives sometime early in the morning with the hospital CEO and the officer assigned to Conrad’s case in tow; and it feels good to let out some frustration on someone who actually deserves it. It leaves her incrementally more relaxed and pleasant when Conrad’s doctor comes for morning rounds. For nearly twelve hours straight Nic holds onto his hand, as if touching him will keep him with her, like a tether. Dr. Lewis comes by and Nic pulls her hand away. A habit from years of maintaining professionalism in a shared workspace; keeping her affection for him only.

Nic doesn’t lose her temper very often because she’s a level headed person; and she doesn’t apologize very often because she is very rarely wrong. But she loses her temper at the officer and CEO and she apologizes to Dr. Lewis. Both uncharacteristic acts are well deserved, and that’s about the extent of the excitement from Nic’s first twelve hours in that chair.

Mostly, she sits. She sits and watches him and stews in her guilt. 

The guilt that she’d let herself be convinced he had left her. He hadn’t _left_ her; he was busy trying not to die and she was getting wine drunk like a co-ed and feeling sorry for herself. Conrad had never done anything to cause her to question his commitment. She was the one who had pushed him away; maybe he had moved a little fast, but to think he would give up on them? Never. He would have driven to every police station in Georgia, then every hospital. He wouldn’t have stopped. He would have found her, he would have _done_ something.

She should have tried harder to convince him not to drive. All the freak accidents they see daily, she should have insisted he wait until morning. He would have listened, if she had pushed hard enough. Because he hates it when he knows she’s worried about him, he’s thoughtful enough to haven gotten a hotel room just to put her mind at ease. 

When Marshall suggests Nic step out for a few hours, she doesn’t put up as much of a fight as she normally would. She knows he wants some time alone with his son, and the least she can do is give him that. And she owes Mina a long overdue phone call. So she leaves her stewing and her guilt in that chair (it will be waiting for her when she gets back) and calls Mina when she steps outside. 

“Nic,” Mina picks up almost immediately, “How are you, how is Conrad?”

“Mina,” Nic sits on one of the benches outside the entrance to the hospital, “I’m sorry. I’m awful, I’m so sorry.”

“Stop apologizing,” Mina cuts her off, “Seriously Nic, stop. How is Conrad, do you need me to come there?”

“No,” Nic sniffs, now more than ever, Mina needs to be at Chastain, because it doesn’t look like she or Conrad will be back anytime soon, “It’s not good Mina. He hasn’t woken up yet, I don’t know if he will.” 

“Nic, you shouldn’t be alone,” Mina says, “I should come down there, or we can see about transferring Conrad here.”

“Marshall is here, I’m not alone,” Nic says, “And he’s not stable for transport, not while his kidneys are still failing. He would want you to stay where you are, keep taking care of our patients. I promise I’ll call you guys with updates, okay?” 

“Okay,” Mina says, she’s about two seconds away from getting in the car and driving there, “Devon and Irving are here, do you mind if I put you on speaker?”

“No,” Nic chances a smile, it feels good to talk to them. Devon’s all clinical, asking a thousand questions in an attempt to diagnose over the phone. 

“What about hypoglycemia? Or hypernatremia?” It’s like talking to Conrad.

“Glucose normal, potassium was elevated but has dropped with calcium and dialysis,” It’s strangely comforting, returning to the clinical side of her brain. It’s almost too easy to switch off her emotional side when he’s not right in front of her. She can pretend it’s just any other patient, “There’s nothing in his bloodwork that isn’t explained by his kidney function.”

“But he _is_ hypernatremic?” He’s grasping at straws, they both know it.

“Yes,” Nic sighs. As much as she wants to, she can’t bear to put her hopes on a Hail Mary pass, “It’s his brain Devon. They’re doing another scan, so I’ll know more later today.” 

“Don’t worry about things here,” Irving tells her, “We’ve already got yours and Conrad’s patients covered. Just focus on what’s going on there, and call us if you need anything.”

“I’m feeding your chickens,” Devon pipes up, “What do you guys do with so many eggs?” 

“Nic, do you want me to call your dad?” Mina asks before they hang up. 

“No, no that’s okay,” Nic tells her, “I’ll call him.”

Later, after crashing at the hotel and sleeping most of the day, Nic sits at a table at a diner down the street from the hospital and stares at her phone, her thumb hovering over Kyle’s contact. She probably should call him, he would be so hurt to learn that Conrad was in the hospital and Nic didn’t tell him, that she doesn’t want him there. She puts the phone down, running her hand through her hair. That’s the truth, isn’t it? She doesn’t want him there, not really. He’s overly emotional and he’ll ask too many questions she doesn’t have the patience to answer. She’s thirty-two and she's tired of constantly having to take care of everyone around her, she doesn’t want to divide her attention when Conrad needs it right now. When he deserves it more than anyone she’s ever known. 

“Another cup of coffee, dear?” The waitress interrupts her internal debate. Nic glances at her watch. It’s nearing 5 o’clock, Conrad’s doctors will be rounding soon, Marshall could probably use a break. She should get back. 

* * *

Her guilt waited for her, just as she thought it would. 

Once, when she was a kid (before her mother died, because really Nic’s childhood ended the day her mom didn’t come home), she was hiking with her parents and sister and she walked straight through a spider web, not observant enough at seven to notice it. She remembers the itchy, uncomfortable feeling of the silk prickling over her arms, sticking to her skin. That’s what it feels like when she walks into his room. 

At seven she had shrieked like a banshee, sending her parents into a tailspin thinking something had bitten her. At thirty-two she just lets it settle over her, one more _feeling_ to add to the way the world feels so heavy. 

“Hey,” Nic leans down to kiss Conrad’s forehead when Marshall goes to the cafeteria for some food, “Hi. Everyone says hello, they’re all so worried about you.” She sits in the chair and takes his hand, kissing his palm and pressing it against her cheek, “Everytime I have to talk Mina down from coming here, and Devon’s trying to play doctor over the phone. You taught him too well, he’s just as annoying as you are. Irving says the ER is busy without you, and Devon is feeding the chickens, he says he has more eggs than he ever wanted.” 

“You’re back,” Nic turns to see Dr. Lewis glancing over Conrad’s chart. She hadn’t even heard her come in, “Are you feeling better.” 

“A little,” Nic doesn’t think she’ll actually feel _better_ until Conrad wakes up and this is far behind them. She pulls back a little so Dr. Lewis can give him an exam, but she keeps holding his hand, the motion of her thumb back and forth across his skin is as much for her comfort as his. Perhaps even more so. 

“I thought that was your name,” Dr. Lewis gestures to Conrad’s tattoo. Nic’s seen it so many times, she sometimes forgets it’s there. It’s the only one he got after he met her, and when she’d seen it for the first time she didn’t need to ask what it meant. If she were to pick a favorite tattoo, the title would probably go to the one above his heart, where she likes to rest her head. Not this one.

“No, Annabeth was a patient,” She’d been her patient too, a favor for Dr. Osder. One of the last chemo patients she’d had before she refused to do anymore. Nic doesn’t etch her scars in ink, but she wears them all the same, “Her picture’s in there somewhere, she was the first patient Conrad lost.” She’d felt so guilty about that too, letting an intern set the flow rate when she should have double checked. She should have made sure he’d done it properly. 

“Sounds like he took it hard.”

“He takes everything hard,” That’s like the understatement of the century. It’s something they both had to learn, how to share the weight of their burdens with each other, and how to leave some of it at the door. They’re still working on it, “He’s an intense person, I used to find it overwhelming, now it’s one of my favorite things about him.”

“Reminds me of myself,” Dr. Lewis says, “I always get too invested.” Nic shifts her attention away from Conrad towards his doctor, she’d thought the same thing. She probes a little, Nic is very good at getting people to open up (She got through to Conrad, didn’t she?). Dr. Lewis is good, really good actually. Far too talented to be in a small rural hospital with her credentials. 

Her dad is sick, of course. It had to have been something personal. Nic offers something personal herself, easing the emotional imbalance that always sets in when you talk about people dead and dying. Usually that helps to alleviate the tension. 

So when Dr. Lewis starts acting cagey, Nic notices immediately. 

“What aren’t you telling me?”

Dr. Lewis steps back, that's how she differs from Conrad. Confidence has always come easily to him. Nic too, “Dr. Grant will be here shortly. Ni-Conrad’s neurosurgeon.” 

“I want to hear it from you,” Nic stands. She doesn’t know Dr. Grant. Dr. Grant hasn’t been the one taking care of him, double and triple checking each and every lab result, investigating even the most minute change in his vitals, “ _You_ are his doctor.” 

“I-I’m not a neurosurgeon. I thought it would be better if-“ Nic seethes. She’d misjudged her, she’s not like Conrad at all. He would never furlough tough news onto another doctor, “We did a repeat head CT today. There’s damage to his frontal lobe.” 

“What does that mean?” Nic had hated her neuro courses. The brain was so complicated, and so many structures overlap and have the same functions. She tries to remember the frontal lobe, knowing it’s important but forgetting why. Too long she’s been content to keep her focus below the neck.

“We still don’t know if he’ll wake up,” She continues, “But even if he does, we have no idea what state he will be in. There could be damage to his cognitive ability.” 

“He might not be able to be a doctor?” Nic looks to Conrad on the bed. He hadn’t done well when he was out of work for a couple of weeks. What does his life, and by extension her life, look like if he can’t do what he loves?

“It’s more than that. He might not wake up as the man you knew,” Nic stares at her, what the hell does that mean? “Memory, personality, many of the things that make up who are as individuals, it’s in the frontal lobe.” 

“What?” Nic stumbles, reaching for the bedrail, like she’s been punched in the stomach. She _feels_ like she’s been punched in the stomach. He knows her, he knows her more than she knows herself. Who would she be without him? “You said he was _fine._ ” 

“I said we needed another head CT-”

“You should have done it sooner,” She never should have left. She should have stayed there with him. He never would have left her, not for a moment. Her hands are grasping wildly for something to hold on to. They settle on him, twisting in the fabric of the hospital gown. Her rock. Her calm in a storm. Hot tears blur her vision and Nic doesn’t even try to hold them back, they fall from her eyes and scorch her cheeks.

“There’s no treatment for this,” Dr. Lewis is still taking. Even Nic is surprised at the loathing that rears in her chest like a poisonous beast, “There’s nothing I could have-”

“Get out,” Nic practically spits at her. 

“I’m so sorry,” Nic doesn’t want her apologies. She couldn’t possibly understand. No one could. Because no one else knows how it feels to have Conrad _know_ them, body and soul. She can’t imagine how it is to love him, to be loved by him. 

“Get OUT,” Nic lays her head on his chest, crying into his gown. It’s too much, everything is too much. Just five days ago he had been teasing her on the phone, like he had a million times. How can that be? How can her whole world crumble in 5 days? She can’t be strong anymore, and she certainly can’t be strong without him. 

So she stops being strong. She feels the weight, and she lets it crush her.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> How is everyone liking season 4? Episode 5 absolutely killed me, I knew it was going to be intense and the whole cast delivered. Poor Nic, she just can't seem to catch a break, huh?  
> Thank you as always for reading, do leave me your thoughts :)


End file.
